Stephanie's Revenge, page 20
'When we get back to the castle, my little hussy, you will have no cause to say that you want anything,' Stephanie said.
'Is that a promise?' Jasmina said playfully. 'I must take off this oil before I start. I do not want my hand to slip.'
As soon as Jasmina had returned from the bathroom, Venetia picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialled the number they had memorised. It was answered on the second ring.
'Signora Gianni, per piacere.'
At the mention of his wife's name, Gianni, who had remained quiet, seeing no point in struggling, began to thrash about on the bed, pulling at his bonds. They did not give. What were they calling his wife for? They must be completely mad.
'Signora Gianni. Hold the line one moment,' Venetia said, in her best Italian. She handed the phone to Jasmina, who had pulled on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt.
In her fluent Italian, Jasmina explained to the Signora that she had been asked to call by the manager of the Excelsior Hotel. There had been some kind of incident, a rather unpleasant scene, in fact, and the manager would be grateful if she could come and pick her husband up. No, she had no idea what Signor Gianni was doing at the hotel, Jasmina said, in answer to her question, but he had booked a suite for the evening. The manager had asked her to make it clear, however, that Signor Gianni would not be welcome at the hotel again, after this incident. They were trying to run a decent and respectable establishment and the use of the hotel for the activities that Signor Gianni had undertaken was not to be condoned. What is more, several guests had complained at the noise. If Signora Gianni was not prepared to come and pick her husband up, the hotel management would have no alternative but to call the police, though they were reluctant to do so because of the scandal it would cause. Nevertheless, there would be no alternative.
Signora Gianni was keen to know precisely the nature of her husband's activities, and why he could not come home by himself. Jasmina replied that she would prefer not to discuss such matters over the phone, but that Signora Gianni should come straight up to Suite 214-215 as soon as she got to the hotel.
The latter remark, as Jasmina hung up, provoked another frantic bout of struggles from Gianni and a string of muffled curses. Had he not been gagged, they would have heard a panoply of verbal abuse mixed with desperate pleading: threats of violence alternating with pleas for mercy and extravagant bribes. But nothing more than a mumbled moan could actually be heard.
Jasmina translated the conversation. Signora Gianni had said she would be at the hotel within the hour.
'No time to waste then,' Stephanie said.
Jasmina laid out her equipment: a large bottle of surgical spirits, bottles of coloured inks, cotton wool pads and a bulbous instrument that looked like a large fountain pen attached to an electrical flex. While Jasmina loaded the pen with blue ink, Stephanie plugged it in.
'Ca va,' Jasmina said, satisfied she was ready. She turned the pen on. A high-pitched buzzing filled the room. Gianni twisted in his bonds to try to see what was going on. He felt the cold sting of surgical spirits as she smeared it with a cotton pad on to his left buttock. He caught only a fleeting glimpse of the instrument in Jasmina's hand, but knew at once what it was. They were going to tattoo him. He immediately fought against his bonds, struggling with all his strength. It was no use.
'You must not struggle,' Jasmina said. 'If you are not very still, it will hurt more.'
He remained still. She wiped his buttock with spirit again and applied the nib of the pen to his flesh. The vibrating nib broke the skin, injecting ink just under the surface. Gianni was about to receive his first tattoo.
Gianni's face was purple with rage, horror and despair. He could not stop himself from struggling, wriggling his arse away, but the nib of the pen only slipped and bit deeper into his flesh.
'I warned you, you must stay still,' Jasmina scolded. She worked slowly and meticulously while Stephanie and Venetia packed up and changed into street clothes. It had been some time since she had used her equipment, but after a few minutes it became mechanical again: a wipe of surgical spirit, a stroke of the pen - often accompanied by a muffled cry of pain from her victim - and another letter took shape. Normally, with a large design like this, she would have made a transfer on to the skin first, as a guide; but today they weren't that interested in precision. As long as the ten letters on the left buttock and the seven on the right were clear. She worked in three colours - red, blue and green - reloading the pen, watching the ink seep under the epidermis, where it would remain more or less forever. Operations to remove tattoos were always painful and only moderately successful, especially on such large areas of soft, absorbent flesh.
The final two letters of the ten on the left cheek needed Stephanie to hold the buttock so Jasmina could tattoo right into the cleft. The seven letters of the right were much easier.
It was forty-five minutes after the phone call that Jasmina finally stood back and called for the girls to admire her work. She had done a good job. Tattooed across Gianni's ample arse, in coloured, ornate calligraphy two inches high, was a simple inscription: 'STEPHANIE'S REVENGE'.
'Wonderful, you're wonderful,' Stephanie said, kissing Jasmina on the cheek. Gianni was trying to look down over his shoulder, contorting himself to see. Of course, he could see nothing. He would never see what was written on his arse except with the letters reversed in a mirror.
'She'll be here any minute,' Venetia warned.
They gathered their bags together. Jasmina quickly packed away her equipment.
Stephanie knelt at the head of the bed so she could look straight into Gianni's eyes. 'We have to go now, Gianni. But don't worry. Your wife is coming to pick you up. She'll be here in a minute. This time I don't think your secretary will save you.'
The look in Gianni's eye changed from pleading, to hatred, to despair, and back again to pleading. He would do anything, he tried to tell her with his eyes, anything in the world if she would just let him go...'
Standing up, Stephanie patted his tattoo. It stung.
'The medium is the message,' she said, laughing.
They had planned everything. They were going to take no chances this time about anything. Not the slightest chance. While Venetia and Jasmina went down to the waiting Rolls Royce with all the bags, Stephanie waited by the lifts.
It was not a long wait. After five minutes, Signora Gianni strode out from between their opening doors, a look of thunder on her face, and followed the signs to 214-215. She was wearing the same short, black, mink jacket. She strode out purposefully, her Bally court shoes clacking on the wooden floor of the corridor. Stephanie followed her, pretending to look for a room number.
They had left the key in the outer door of the suite. Signora Gianni checked the number on the door, turned the key and went inside.
Stephanie could hear her calling out Gianni's name. She called three times, and then there was silence. If Signora Gianni said anything, Stephanie could not hear what it was. In fact, she said nothing.
It was a matter of no more than a minute before she re-emerged from the suite, walking just as purposefully. She saw Stephanie and gave her a strange look, but said nothing. She did not bother to close the suite door behind her, nor take the key from the lock. She walked quickly to the lift and pressed the call button. Stephanie came to stand beside her. She pressed the call button too. While they waited side by side for the lift to arrive, Signora Gianni took out a silver cigarette case from her snake-skin Gucci bag and lit a Sobraine cocktail cigarette with a gold Cartier lighter. As she brought the cigarette to her lips, Stephanie could see that her hand was trembling slightly. She took a long drag on the cigarette, and blew the smoke out in a long stream. Then her thin lips formed into the merest suggestions of a smile.
They did not normally have the newspapers at the castle; it was too isolated. But the following day, in the afternoon, Devlin took the powerboat to the mainland and came back with all the Italian tabloid press. It did not take an impressive command of the Italian language to understand the headlines accompanying the pictures of Gianni alongside separate pictures of his wife. Signora Gianni had acted swiftly. Gianni had been served with a writ preventing him having anything more to do with the business: from setting foot in its offices, from drawing a cheque on its bank account, from even so much as taking a paper clip. Another matrimonial writ barred him from the house, his car, his private bank account. All these things were, Signora Gianni claimed, her property and the property of her family. She was suing for divorce on the grounds of adultery.
She had even called a press conference. With her father at her side, she told the assembled reporters she had discovered that her husband was a sexual deviant, that he was and always had been a lover of miniscule proportions and that, as far as she was concerned, he could rot in hell. Her father had added that his son-in-law had simply ceased to exist, and he would use his considerable power and influence to see that the hurt done to his daughter by her monstrous husband would make him unemployable.
They read the stories over and over with glee, Jasmina and Devlin translating every word. By the time they had finished, darkness had fallen, and the time had arrived for another adventure, an adventure Gianni had been responsible for delaying.
It was time to take Jasmina down to the cellars. Stephanie had promised her, and she was eager to learn. And Stephanie would teach her, teach her to be dominant as she had been with Devlin. And teach her to submit.
Upstairs, they stripped her naked. Venetia brought a white cloak of heavy satin. It fastened only at the neck, feeling cold against Jasmina's body, making her nipples pucker.
'Is it time?' Jasmina said quietly.
'Is it what you want?'
'Mais oui.'
'Then I have to bind you. That is the first lesson.' Taking a silk rope, Stephanie bound Jasmina's hands behind her back. Venetia helped her into white shoes. Stephanie kissed her on the mouth, remembering the first time she had been kissed with her hands bound.
They walked down the wide staircase on either side of her. As she walked the cloak flowed open, revealing her black and naked body, her hard, stone-like nipples, the cultured muscles of her thighs. With her hands bound behind her back she was unable to prevent it.
Stephanie held aside the tapestry that revealed the door to the cellars. Jasmina felt her pulse racing, her breathing short and shallow.
The door swung open. She saw the well-worn stone steps. She felt a rush of cold air.
'Are you ready?' Stephanie said.
'Yes,' she said, then added, wanting to tell them she understood what was going to happen to her, 'yes, mistress.'
Stephanie led her forward, her shoes echoing on the stone. She would give Jasmina undreamt-of pleasure, fill her imagination with lusts and longings, swamp her body with sensations, just as she remembered being swamped the first time she had come to the castle.
In a sense, it was her reward, her prize for helping Stephanie, for giving her the means to complete Stephanie's Revenge.
-oOo-
Enjoy Stephanie's continuing BDSM adventures, all exclusively published as eBooks by us and available to download now from your favourite online bookstore, with the fourth in the series...
Stephanie's Domain
The clips lay ready on the bed. Two bright chrome clips, like little bulldog clips but with edges serrated with tiny metal teeth. She picked them up. Opening the jaws, she positioned the tiny teeth over her own veiled nipple. Slowly she allowed the spring of the clip to close. She felt the metal biting into her soft puckered flesh. She felt pain but pleasure too, sharp hard pleasure. Another wave of feeling came as she pulled the clip away.
Having exacted her revenge on Gangster Gianni, Stephanie now has the time to fully explore the rewards of being the Mistress of Devlin's Italian castle.
When Devlin's business associates come to visit, Stephanie has a few surprises for this unsuspecting young couple. After initiating the women into the delights of sapphic love, she introduces them both to the pleasures of domination over a bevy of willing slaves kept in the subterranean lair of her dungeon.
She unleashes desires in her guests which fuel the hunger for limitless sexual experience. Her skills in the art of jet-setting seduction confirm the endless possibilities of mixing business with pleasure.
-oOo-
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Susanna Hughes, Stephanie's Revenge
